ened from the
dusty barn.

The house of Maam was jet-black among its trees, no light peeped even in
Nan's room.

Carefully he put the ladder against the wall beneath her window, and as
he did so he fancied he heard a movement above. He stood with his hand
on one of the rungs, dubious, hesitating. For the first time a sense
of the risks of the adventure swept into that mind of his, always the
monopoly of imagination and the actor. He was ashamed to find himself
half-wishing she might not come. He tried to think it was all a dream,
and he pinched his arm to try and waken himself. But the blank black
walls of Maam confronted him; the river was crying in its reeds; it was
a real adventure that must be gone on with.

He lit the lantern. Through the open door of it as he did so the flood
of light revealed his face anxious and haggard, his eyes uncertain. He
closed the lantern and looked around.

Through the myriad holes that pierced the tin, pin-points of fire lanced
the night, streaming in all directions, throwing the front of the house
at once into cold relief with a rasping, harled, lime surface. The
bushes were big masses of shade; the trees, a little more remote, seemed
to watch him with an irony that made him half ashamed. What an appalling
night! Over him came the sentiments of the robber, the marauder, the
murderer. As he held the lantern on his finger a faint wind swung it,
and its lances of light danced rhythmic through the gloom. He put it
under his plaid, and prepared to give the signal whistle. For the life
of him he could not give it utterance; his lips seemed to have frozen,
not with fear, for he was calm in that way, but with some commingling
of emotions where fear was not at all. When he gave breath to his
hesitating lips, it went through inaudible.

What he might have done then may only be guessed, for the opening of the
window overhead brought an end to his hesitation.

"Is it you?" said Nan's voice, just a little revealing her anxiety in
its whisper. He could not see her now that his lantern was concealed,
but he looked up and fancied her eyes were shining more lambent than his
own lantern that smelled unpleasantly.

He wet his lips with his tongue. "The ladder is ready; it's up against
your window, don't you see it?" he said, also whispering, but astounded
at the volume of his voice.

"Tuts!" she exclaimed impatiently, "why don't you show a light? How can
I see it without a light?"

"Dare I?"